


After Training

by Zelan



Category: Queen's Crown (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/F, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-21 22:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11954460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelan/pseuds/Zelan
Summary: After a hard training session, Amara encounters Jeisa while getting ready to retire for bed.





	After Training

You make your way stiffly into your room, flopping down on your bed in a most unqueenly manner. Not that it matters, since there’s no one in here to see you.

You are sore all over after three hours of training - _without_ armor - with Ser Simard and Ser Jacin, not to mention the light drizzle that had persisted throughout. The long afternoon has left you soaked and bruised.

Nevertheless, you are proud of yourself for holding your own. The young knights probably held back, of course, and they hadn’t been highly trained in the first place, but for only your second time holding a sword you think you did pretty well.

Of course, the warm glow of pride doesn’t stop you from wincing as you attempt to pull the sodden gown off of your battered body.

You are thinking of calling in a servant to attend you when a knock sounds at your door. “Come in,” you call, dropping the gown so that you are covered. You smile when the door is pushed open to reveal Lady Jeisa, who beams in return. The two of you have grown quite close since she was assigned to be your lady-in-waiting, and you frequently spend your evenings chatting together.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” she says, curtsying briefly before hurrying to your side. You nod, barely acknowledging the formality, as it is little more than that at this point. “Here, do you need help with your gown? It must be heavy from all that water.”

“Thank you, Lady Jeisa,” you say, lifting your arms above your head. As she busies herself with carefully peeling the wet fabric from your skin, she gives you an admiring smile.

“I watched you sparring for a bit. From the window. You did wonderfully.” You grin at the unexpected compliment, but are unable to answer when she pulls the dress up over your face. Jeisa turns away to fold the gown so that it can be taken away. 

When she looks back at you, you are suddenly acutely aware of the fact that you stand before her in your undergarments.

It’s not the first time that you and her have been alone in such a way, but there is something different in her eyes as they travel slowly down your frame. And then she surprises you by taking a step and closing the distance between you.

Her hand reaches out to touch a dark, blotchy bruise just above your left hip. The motion instantly reminds you of the court physician, but her caress is so much gentler than his professional prodding that the comparison is immediately chased from your mind. In its place is the thought of those soft fingers running down your spine, over your jaw, through your hair, and you feel your breath catch in your throat.

Jeisa seems to sense this. She grows bolder, letting her hands cup your hips, her thumbs stenciling loving circles onto your stomach. Heat flows from her own dry body to your chilled one. You lose yourself in the sensation and suddenly she is behind you, hands still comfortably in place, her nose nuzzling the nape of your neck. Her breaths come unsteadily, in perfect time with your own erratic heartbeat.

You feel the unspoken question hovering in the air, radiating from her hands, in the beat of her heart pressed into your shoulder blade. You gently take her hand and guide it up to just underneath your breast.

Having been granted permission, her other hand wastes no time in undoing the cloth at your chest. As it falls away to the floor, she gathers you in close, massaging your breasts with such care that you wonder if the two of you haven’t done this before in a past life.

Her fingertips graze your nipples and you gasp, a shiver running through you. “Jeisa…” Your voice comes as barely a breath.

One of her hands comes up to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. Placing her lips right next to it, she whispers, seductively sweet, “Your Grace, you must be awfully cold after having spent so long in that rain…”

You turn your head so that her lips are pressed against your cheek, just shy of the corner of your mouth. “Yes,” you whisper back. “Perhaps you could prepare me a hot bath, and then…

“...then you could join me.”


End file.
